Accidentally On Purpose
by Val-Creative
Summary: It feels like one of their stupid challenges he and Keith would involve themselves in without actually verbalizing what it was. Whoever chickened out first was the loser. And neither of them enjoyed that possibility of losing to each other… in the past or right now. /Post-S7. James GriffinxKeith. Jeith. Jaith. Oneshot.


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Blood doesn't stain fingertips or wrists for a long time. It doesn't permeate and overtake the first-most layer of skin and follicles and pores, changing its natural chemistry and structure.

James goes over the past hour and a half in his mind, grimly satisfied with the results. For the most part.

He holds up his naked, olive-toned fingers visibly wrinkling in the shower, carefully examining each tiny, pale groove. After rinsing off the soapy residue from his upper back, James steps out the tiny, uncurtained shower stall, frowning and waving the heated and white-thick steam out of his face.

For a second, he thinks someone else is here, turning off a faucet. James pads into the locker room area, grabbing an extra-large towel to wring out his hair and then half attempts to cover his front.

Keith emerges from around the corner of one of the locker-aisles, not a speck of water or soap on him. He clutches a towel to his waist and stumbles, blinking astonished as James nearly collides into him.

"Whoa, hey! Sorry 'bout that," James says, dropping his mostly wet towel onto the bench and relaxing himself, letting out a clear, boisterous laugh. "Didn't see you there, Keith. Wow. You're still good about sneaking up on other people, huh? All I heard was the sink going off…"

A faint, thoughtful noise.

"Someone said you were there," Keith mumbles, not elaborating. It takes James an awkwardly long moment, gazing into the _infinitely_ blue-gray quality of Keith's eyes meeting his, to realize what the hell Keith is even talking about.

"Yeah…" James clears his throat, nodding and offering a kind of nonchalant shrug. "Gotta say it's not every day when you, uh, assist the emergency delivery of a civilian's baby…"

Veronica had done the _real_ work, encouraging the civilian when to breathe and when to push down, ordering James to bring her the roll of shock blankets and the medical supplies kit.

He ended up with a little, shrieking baby cradled in his arms while Veronica encouraged the civilian to stand up and wrap herself up for the journey home in the Garrison-wheeler. The newborn reeked like mucus and blood and _whatever_ else keeps it alive inside someone's womb. And even though his ears _hurt_ like hell from the shrieks, he was glad the infant and mother were doing okay.

James's uniform and his armored, dark gray gloves had the stench and smear of dark blood too, while he was firmly congratulated by Commander Iverson and others for his bravery and duty. More than anything, James wanted everybody to _stop_ praising him so he could wash himself off.

"Guess so."

Keith's low, rumbling voice snaps him back to reality. James glances over him with a little confusion when the other man notices James being completely exposed and averts his eyes, his cheeks reddening.

Oh… _oh_ , this is too good.

James's mouth stretches into a grin.

"Come to think of it, man… I've never _seen_ you bothering to shower with the rest of us," he points out, watching earnestly as Keith stiffens up, re-clutching his towel up to his hip and fisting the terry cloth material. "Not when we were kids either at public school after gym class."

"Why does it matter?" Keith barks out. The flushing color to his face rises up to his temples.

"Doesn't," James admits, leaning his forearm onto a gray-painted locker door and eyeing him. "Just kinda funny if you think about it." He may not be _subtle_ about flirting, but Keith is just too easy of a target to get riled. Always been like that. James doesn't want to bully him anymore — well, not in a bad way. No, not _bad_ at all. "You get self-conscious or what, Keith?" he adds, his grin widening almost Cheshire-like. "It's not like you don't got one too, right?…"

It feels like one of their stupidass challenges he and Keith would involve themselves in, without actually verbalizing what it was. Whoever chickened out first was the _loser_.

And neither of them enjoyed that possibility of losing.

James seats himself onto the bench, comfortably adjusting himself and straddling open his legs. There's a light, constant pressure on his balls hardening underneath his cock. He keeps his stare on Keith, never relenting on the shit-eating grin, occasionally and lazily pumping himself.

What is this then? A masturbatory challenge? _Challengurbation_?

Keith's eyebrows furrow.

A familiar look of disdain crosses his expression, but Keith throws off his towel, straddling the bench right in front of James. His bare knees and legs are covered with a lot of black hairs, almost like fur, along with the span of Keith's entire chest and down to… … oh, he's trans, James realizes with a slow-churning arousal. It's an obscenely dark, wet thatch of pubic hair.

He gulps down what probably is an _awestruck_ sound, when Keith's fingers rub over himself, probing his fluid-slippery crease and opening up, revealing glistening, deep pink muscle.

 _Fuck_.

"You're not doing it right," James says hoarsely, daring to move closer and nudging Keith's fingers to position differently, obtaining more direct contact on his throbbing, needy clitoris. When he _touches_ Keith's warm, hairy flesh, James's cock responds with a long and hard twitch, his foreskin rolling so far back up his shaft that he may as well be considered fully erect.

"How would you know?" Keith blurts out. He grits his teeth but does not pull away from the attention.

James's forefinger strokes over one of Keith's folds, reveling in the sensation of the other man quivering. "My last girlfriend taught me how to get her off…" James tells him, his eyes lidding. He chuckles, grin softening. "Not to overstep or anything like that. But, man, you're definitely hotter…"

Maybe it's just the trick of the steam and overhead lights, but Keith's lips quirk up.

Blood doesn't stain, and neither does the hot gush of cum dampening onto two of James's fingers roughly filling and pressing within Keith's tightening entrance, working him to _bliss_.

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 _Voltron isn't mine. IT'S JEITH WEEK! A VERY UNDERAPPRECIATED SHIP and especially by me because I rarely think about it sadjkhfsa BUT WE ARE HERE TO FIX THAT. It's the last day well an Extra Day and idk I have very strong Trans Keith feelings lately and always because being trans is you know a thing that is me. About me. Maybe I'm self-projecting. IDK. It's also another bingo space for Voltron Bingo covering "Mutual Masturbation" space and thanks for reading! Any comments welcome!  
_


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